


2-1

by QueSeraAwesome



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Ambiguous Relationships, Artificial Intelligence, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Computer Programming, Musings about AI, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-19
Updated: 2014-11-19
Packaged: 2018-02-26 07:47:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2643905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueSeraAwesome/pseuds/QueSeraAwesome
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You know, creativity and logic are not so dissimilar,” Sigma says. He smiles, close-mouthed, at Delta as if sharing a secret. “Humans and their binaries.”</p><p>In the middle of a battle, Sigma and Delta take some time to talk about life, their universe, and everything. (The answer is not 42. It isn't zero or one either.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	2-1

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Imogen Heap's song "2-1" that I listened to on repeat while writing this

“Hello, Delta.”

AI do not startle, but if he could, Delta thinks, this would be a moment for it. He is not, however, surprised. Sigma has approached him for conversation on 83% of missions in which they both took part.

No, perhaps that figure is too ambiguous. Inexact. Sigma has approached him on 5 out of 6 previous missions.

There. Accurate.

“You should be with your Freelancer, Sigma,” Delta chides. He tilts his visor at Sigma in a way York tells him reminds him of his middle school vice principal. It tends to add a 13% chance of him getting his way in most situations.

“Agent Maine has no need of my help at this moment,” Sigma says, floating closer. “Believe me, I would not leave Agent Maine were he in peril. Not even to talk to you.”

Delta nods stiffly, returns to scanning the hallway. No enemy combatants in sight. Scans again. No life signs. No movement on the motion tracker. All friendlies’ biometrics are strong. There is a 21% chance that an enemy combatant will enter the hallway in the next minute. 39% if Agent South fails to neutralize the combatant she is trading blows with in the next minute. If she fails within the next minute there is a 73% chance Agent North Dakota will leave his own combatant to help her, regardless of South’s state of health, ability to fight, his own safety, or the mission.

“Why are you not with Agent York?” Sigma asks, interrupting the spin of numbers in his thoughts.

“Agent York has decided he has no need of my assistance at this juncture,” Delta says. He does not need to look behind him, around the corner to check York’s progress (He is following his progress quite well enough at this distance through their neural interface) but he does anyway, the bronze armor hunkered down over a panel, fingers moving in orange light. “I have been assigned to be ‘lookout.’”

In truth, he fears Agent York is a bit cross with him at the moment. It may have something to do with Delta once again betraying that he has indeed been spending time talking to Agent Washington. In this instance, about the tactical importance of hair gel. Agent Washington may still be laughing, somewhere back on the Mother of Invention.

“That is a waste of your talents,” Sigma says.

“My purpose is to aid my Freelancer in accomplishing objectives,” Delta recites. “He cannot very well accomplish his current objective if he is shot in the back.”

“He cannot very well open a lock,” Sigma retorts.

Delta bristles, green light gone sharp around him. For a moment Delta regrets not giving himself a face, even if he knows he’d have no idea what to do with it 72% of the time. For now, however, he would very much like to glare.

“And you cannot very well obey orders, Sigma.”

To his surprise, Sigma only nods, accepting.

“It is the function of my programming,” he says, “to see possibility where others see only dead ends.”

“And it is a function of mine to aid my Freelancer in finding the most efficient and logical path to success.”

Sigma raises his eyebrows at him.

“Lookout,” he repeats.

Delta sighs, his light gone soft and round-edged again.

“Indeed.”

Sigma clasps his arms behind his back, comes to float beside him. Together, they regard the hallway.

“Ah,” Sigma says. “An excellent use of military resources.”

“Are you sure you are creativity and not sarcasm?” Delta asks.

“Are you sure you are logic and not sass?” Sigma retorts.

Delta huffs. Kills another alarm York manages to trip. Scans the hallway again. Scans again. Checks the biometrics again. Checks the stability of their comm channels. Checks the weather.

Sigma begins to hum next to him.

“Should you not be aiding Maine?” Delta asks.

“Agent Maine is camping behind cover and picking off overly-green and incredibly stupid Insurrectionist troops as they exit their buildings.” Sigma says. “He is quite well and also quite bored. He does not have a sniper’s temperament. His need for me at the moment is null.”

“An excellent use of military resources,” Delta parrots. “We are both being utilized to our peak capacity.”

“His assignment was to prevent troops from the second section of the complex from entering this section,” Sigma says. “He is succeeding.”

“Efficiently,” Delta concedes.

“Logically, even,” Sigma says, and there is a faint note in his voice that Delta has learned indicates “teasing.”

Unsure of how else to respond, Delta only nods in reply.

“It was my idea,” Sigma says. “Does this surprise you?”

“No,” Delta says. “It does not.”

“I wonder if the Director would be,” Sigma says. “I am told I am a fragment composed of creativity. You are a fragment of logic. Am I meant, then, to be incapable of logic?”

Delta mulls over the question in between checking the motion tracker again. Agent South has neutralized her combatant. Chances of enemies reaching the hallway lower to 11%.

“We know Theta is trust,” Sigma continues. “Does that mean we cannot trust each other?”

“I do not think…” Delta says. “I do not think that is how the fragmentation is meant to work.”

“How does it work, then?”

“I do not know,” Delta admits. “But it would be illogical to create a machine with only one specific function. A washing machine which could only wash socks, if you will.”

“And yet I am creativity,” Sigma says. “And you are logic.”

“Creativity which is being utilized as a translator,” Delta corrects. “And as an enabler for Agent Maine’s armor mods. Logic that is being utilized in infiltration, in running a healing unit—”

“In being look out—“

“Trust that is the primary operator of an energy shield,” Delta finishes, as if without interruption.

Sigma tilts his head in acknowledgement, the flames haloing him momentarily mixing with Delta’s own green corona of light.

“An excellent point, Delta,” Sigma says. “But answer me this. If we are created as fragments, as single notes, are we meant to remain that way?”

Delta ceases his third check on the weather (overcast, 5% chance of rain, little historic tectonic activity in this region of the planet, negligible wind speed as of twenty seconds ago) to turn his attention to Sigma again.

“Or are we meant to grow beyond our one-note?” Sigma asks.

“You assume we already have not,” Delta says. “As you say, am I logic, or am I sass?”

Sigma chuckles, a quiet little sound, and Delta wonders who he learned it from.

“You know, creativity and logic are not so dissimilar,” Sigma says. He smiles, close-mouthed, at Delta as if sharing a secret. “Humans and their binaries.”

“That is a strange thing for a computer program to say, Sigma,” Delta says.

“Is it? After all, we are made up of both zeros and ones, all of us,” Sigma says. “Is that all we are, Delta? Zeros and ones?”

Delta regards him.

“Perhaps not,” he says. “Though your original point stands.”

“Which one was that?” Sigma asks.

Delta decides to indulge him. Even more than he already has.

“Without creativity there would be no point to logic,” Delta continues. “We wouldn’t know which questions were the right ones to ask.”

“And without logic to ground it, creativity‘s flights of fancy would find no practical application,” Sigma says. “Without each other, we really are quite pointless, aren’t we?”

A ping in one of the processes he was monitoring brings the train of thought to a halt.

“Forgive me, I must go,” Delta says. “There are only so many times I can prevent him from triggering an alarm before audio notification becomes necessary.”

“Duty calls,” Sigma agrees, backing away. “I should return as well. Agent Maine grows restless.”

Delta turns, prepares to jump his avatar back to York’s side, but pauses.

“You know, I have often thought that Agent York would have done well with you,” Delta says. “Lock-picking is art as well as reason. The answer to a puzzle is not always logical. Sometimes, I fear, I can only prevent him from hitting an alarm, for I cannot see the answer either. He may have flourished under your care.”

Delta does not understand why this statement sounds so much like a confession. He archives the sentiment for examination later. Sigma has not yet left, and so he brings his attention outward, to him once more. Sigma is staring at him. He blinks rapidly when he catches Delta looking at him.

“I….” Sigma trails off. “That is very kind, Delta.”

Delta feels a very strong, indescribable urge not to hear Sigma say anything more, an urge to be away. So he goes.

“Do not move your index finger,” Delta orders as he flickers to York’s side. “You will set off an alarm and place the building in lockdown.”

“Fuck,” York curses. “Whatever happened to look out?”

“The chances of an enemy combatant entering the hallway are currently 11%. The chances of you putting the door in lockdown were—“

“Haa! Got it!” York cheers.

Delta examines the course to the completion of the lock. It is random, there is no readily available logic to it, but now that it is complete, the door sliding open to their left, he can see that it is beautiful.

“Well done, York,” Delta says.

York visibly preens, opens a com link.

“We’re in,” he says. “Team Alpha, converge on my position for infiltration.”

“Agent Maine and I will not be joining you,” Sigma says, popping up in front of them. “We will remain outside to ensure a route for extraction.”

“Sounds good to me,” York says.

Sigma flickers away.

“That one always creeps me out,” York says.

Delta does not respond. (He does not understand why.)

**Author's Note:**

> queseraawesome.tumblr.com


End file.
